Desperate for RamadanThis year,
I'm seeking refuge from the fear and rage of Sept. 11

By Laila Al-Marayati
November
2001

Every year, as Ramadan approaches, I eagerly
await the month's arrival, as if I am getting ready to see a long lost friend.
But this year, in a way that I could never have imagined, I am desperate for
Ramadan to begin. I will be seeking refuge from the fear, confusion, rage and
sadness that have threatened to overwhelm me since the unspeakable happened on
Sept. 11.

Like others, I responded with shock, and fear for my own safety and that of my
children. After all, Osama bin Laden and his ilk consider Muslims who don't
share their point of view and especially those who aren't actively fighting the
West to be traitors and, in his mind, legal targets. I still can't
shake an irrational sense of shame because I share some features with the
terrorists, in terms of Arab ethnicity and Islamic affiliation. Yet, I cannot
fathom how those who claim to share my faith could actually believe that the
terrorist acts could be consistent with Islam under any circumstances.

The support from friends and neighbors, now and in the immediate aftermath of
the attacks, has come as a relief from my tortured thoughts and feelings. And,
to my astonishment, an innocent curiosity about Islam emerged among the American
public as a consequence of the attacks--a curiosity that provided American
Muslims with an opportunity to share our beliefs and experiences with others in
an atmosphere of friendliness and understanding.

But lately, these fleeting hopeful moments have been replaced with grief and
dread, as bombs drop on starving Afghans and as respected leaders speak of
torture, military tribunals, indefinite detention and mass deportation. Now, the
slogan Islam is not our enemy has been replaced throughout the media with
headlines like Yes, It is About Islam ( The New York Times). The networks
are back to their simplistic reporting with sensational segment lead-ins like Do Muslims want to rid the world of
Christianity!! (Fox News) Television
and radio pundits who have never read the Qur'an are suddenly experts, reading
verses out of context--when they even bother to have a Muslim on the program. It
seems they want their guests to purge the Muslim community of the evil within and expunge the problematic sayings from the Muslim scriptures
altogether.

Yet it is the very text of the Holy Qur'an, with which I renew my
relationship every year during Ramadan, that makes me want to be Muslim. It was
bestowed as a guidance and mercy to bring forth all mankind out of the
depths of darkness into the light. (Qur'an 14:1)

Every year, I look forward to a different
experience with the Qur'an. Through this living text, God responds to the
innermost cravings of my heart, answers my questions, soothes my fears, gives me
hope. I will read verses that I may not have fully understood before and
suddenly their meaning will be clear. The events of today will somehow be
addressed, and in the end I will be able to rejoice once again in the beauty
that is God's creation, in the wisdom of His guidance, and in the awareness of
my own strength and ability to patiently persevere.

I know this will happen, because it happens every time. But, now more than ever,
I need this transformation to take place quickly. I need the light of the Qur'an to overwhelm the darkness that now engulfs me. Events are occurring at
breakneck speed and on most days I feel like a hapless spectator in a scenario
that surpasses even Hollywood's wildest imagination.

Lately, exercising control over the tangible, manageable aspects of my life
is the only way I can confront my sense of powerlessness. Fasting will fill that
need for now, as I concentrate on the task at hand. I will incorporate the daily
rigors of this year's fast into my lifelong spiritual journey whose transcendent
moments sustain me during times of crisis. On a more mundane level, I suppose
that being hungry and tired will distract me from the events of the moment since
I'll need to focus on my job, my children and planning for family meals that
will take on a different meaning this month.

During Ramadan, Muslims are exhorted to be more generous in their charitable
giving (zakat), something that seems to come so much easier since Sept. 11. The
Arabic word zakat actually means self-purification so that the act of
giving is also an act of cleansing. So, while my donations, whether for the
families of the victims in New York or for starving Afghan refugees, seem meager
and insufficient, I know that they can only accomplish good and, in so doing,
refresh my soul.

In quiet, sometimes awkward conversation, many of my Muslim friends share
with me a sense of numbness; we are aware that we need to be more spiritual--yet
were frustrated that the state of being we long for eludes us because of so
many distractions. We know that fasting will enhance our consciousness of God
and uplift our spirits, leading us closer to the spiritual completeness we need
now.

Perhaps after Ramadan, we'll have renewed
strength to deal with the changing landscape in which we live. Hopefully, we
will face the threats to our civil liberties with resolve and not resentment.
Perhaps we'll have the courage to begin to confront the extremism that we know
exists within the Muslim world. And maybe we will be so transformed after
Ramadan that our community will even be able to impact global events that will
lead to peace and justice in places where they are sorely lacking.

I know that things will never be the way they were when I used to go happily
about my daily life from home to work to soccer practice and music lessons,
engaging in all of the other normal things that regular folks do. Before, I did
not feel that simply being an active member in the Muslim community could be
viewed as suspect. Not knowing what exactly constitutes suspicious
behavior makes many of us feel less certain of ourselves even when there is no
rational basis for self-doubt. We are like strangers at home, where we now have
to prove that we're nice, patriotic people, something most of us have been all
of our lives.

As the war on terrorism progresses, I must admit that I am more
skeptical than hopeful about the future. But after this Ramadan, I know that
anxiety will be replaced with reassurance, fear with courage, bitterness with
compassion and despair with hope. Ultimately, some day things may even be better
than they were before Sept. 11, simply because we rose to the occasion and
survived challenging times.

And We do not burden any human being with more than he is well able to
bear: for with Us is a record that speaks the truth and none shall be wronged
(Qur'an
23:62)